The Song That Opened Her Eyes

On Saturday, May 3rd, I packed up my guitar and headed to Talbot Place Aged Care Facility. I was volunteering my time to sing for the residents — a small gesture that I hoped might brighten someone’s day. When I arrived, one of the staff quietly warned me, “They probably won’t give you much.” I smiled and nodded. I wasn’t there for applause.

There were only five residents in the room when I set up, including an elderly woman lying quietly in a wheeled bed near the television. Her eyes were closed. She didn’t stir when I greeted the room with a cheerful “good morning.” I wondered, gently, if she even knew I was there.

Before I began, I told them they could join in however they liked. Sing along. Dance. Hum. Close your eyes and just listen. Or don’t do anything at all. Whatever felt right.

I began to play.

Some residents swayed a little. Some closed their eyes and smiled. Others simply sat still, watching, or maybe remembering something far away. The atmosphere was quiet, heavy with stillness and time. As I kept playing, more and more residents entered the space to listen and enjoy the music.

And then I started singing American Pie by Don McLean.

Suddenly, like something out of a movie, the woman in the bed opened her eyes.

Wide. She looked straight at me. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared.

And she stayed that way for the entire song. And the next. And the next.

It felt like something had stirred in her; an old memory, some flicker of a life once filled with noise and music and movement. Something I’ll never know, but could feel all the same.

As I packed up to leave, I walked past her bed. She looked straight at me and said, clear as anything: “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”

It caught me off guard. Not because of what she said, but because it was the only thing she said. And the only time she moved. For that moment, music had pulled her out of the stillness. Not to dance or to sing — just to be present. Fully. Awake. Alive.

That moment stuck with me. Connection doesn’t always look loud or energetic. Sometimes it looks like an old woman opening her eyes after days or weeks of stillness, and choosing to say thank you in the only way she can.

It’s moments like this that remind me why I do what I do. And they only happen because of the people who support Genki Fit. Thanks to your support, I’m able to do these visits at no charge. This is part of the heart behind Genki Fit: it's not just a fitness business, we're a social enterprise, and all funds go back into using my skills to bring joy, connection, and wellbeing in all kinds of places.

Thank you for making that possible.

Jaymee